


True Sadness

by Riprap



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Depression, Gen, References to Depression, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson Needs a Hug, Supportive Bucky Barnes, bucky helps, no suicide or self-harm actually occurs, sam is depressed, self-harm discussion, suicide discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:00:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22838971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riprap/pseuds/Riprap
Summary: Sam has been acting odd and Bucky makes it his business to figure out what's going on.There are some very frank discussions about depression and suicide in this story.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

_Text between Bucky and Sam._

Elsa: Sam. Where are you. 

Elsa: Are you even awake?

Elsa: Saaaaaam. 5 more minutes and I’m leaving.

Elsa: SAM. 

BirdBoy: Sorry, man. Not going to make it this morning.

Elsa:??

BirdBoy: Didn’t sleep well.

Elsa: 3rd time this week. You ok?

BirdBoy is typing…..

BirdBoy is typing…..

BirdBoy is typing…..

BirdBoy: Yes.

Elsa: Lunch then.

BirdBoy: I can’t.

Elsa: Coffee?

BirdBoy: Not today. Need to catch up on some stuff.

Elsa: Drinks. I’ll buy. 

BirdBoy: Nah, I’m not great company right now.

Elsa: When’d you last leave your house?

BirdBoy:

Elsa: OMW

BirdBoy: Bucky NO. 

Elsa: BUCKY YES.

BirdBoy: Barnes, I swear to God, the last thing I need to deal with right now is your ugly face.

Elsa: Then don’t look at it.

BirdBoy: I’m FINE.

Elsa: I’m sure you are. Will confirm when I get there.

BirdBoy: Don’t.

Elsa: Sorry can’t text and drive.

Bucky had an uneasy feeling about Sam. He tried to tell himself that everything was ok, Sam probably just had the flu, but there was something nagging at the back of his brain. As he drove, he tried to put his finger on just what was bothering him. He and Steve had hung out at Sam’s house on Monday, as usual. Bucky cooked dinner, as usual, and then they played Mario Kart and Steve beat the shit out of everyone, as usual, and everything seemed normal. 

Except Sam usually put away as much food as Steve, but he ate barely half of what was on his plate. He spaced out a couple of times with Mario Kart which NEVER happened because Sam always wanted to win. Always. 

Bucky had chalked it up to a bad day, until the next morning, when Sam was 10 minutes late to their morning run, ran half his usual, and talked less than that. He watched Sam get in his car and then sit, hands on the wheel, staring at nothing. Bucky started to walk over when Sam noticed, waved and drove off. He didn’t show at all for the next two days, once because of a headache and once because of a vague “I just don’t feel great” and now because of a bad night’s sleep. 

All these things taken separately were nothing. But taken together, they were a pattern of symptoms Bucky knew well, because he’d lived them. He needed to lay eyes on Sam, ask some questions, make certain sure he was ok. 

He grabbed at least 2 days of mail on his way to Sam’s door. There was no answer when he knocked, though he hadn’t really been expecting one. He entered the code for the front door lock and let himself in.

“Sam? It’s just me.” His voice shattered the stillness that had settled on the house. It seemed abandoned, like no one had spoken, no one had moved in days. The same blankets were in the same places they had been when they left last Monday. In the kitchen, the same ice cream bowls were still waiting to be put in the dishwasher. Bucky opened the fridge to find the leftovers from Monday’s chicken casserole untouched and the grapes shriveling and the milk expired. 

“Sam?” He heard movement above him and headed up the stairs. He knocked twice on the bedroom door before he opened it. 

It was dark and stuffy and the blackout curtains were closed. The laundry basket was overflowing. There was a lump in the center of the bed that Bucky assumed was Sam. He poked it to make sure.

“Sam? Are you alive?” The lump moved.

“Yes.”

“Can I get you something?”

“No.”

“Are you sick?”

“Yes.”

“Been to the doctor?”

“Don’t need a doctor.”

“How long have you been like this?”

“It’s a virus. It’ll pass. I’ll be fine if--”

“Bullshit.”

Sam sat up suddenly. “You better step back, asshat. You’re the one who busted in my house after I told you not to and now you’re calling me a liar?”

“Whoa, there, hero,” Bucky said, throwing his hands up. “Calm down.”

He hoped, prayed, that his face didn’t reflect his shock, because Sam did not look sick. He looked far far worse. He looked….missing. Like the real Sam had taken a vacation and this empty body was a stand in.

Sam disappeared under the covers.

“Sam, don’t--

“Goodbye, Barnes.”

“I just want--”

“Leave me alone, Barnes.”

“Could you listen for a--”

“You know where the door is, Barnes.”

This was going well.

He went back out to the kitchen and called Steve. 

“Hey. Not going to be home tonight.”

“Leaving me for that woman from the empanada shop?”

“If I were to leave you for anyone, it would be her. But, no, I’m at Sam’s.” Bucky paused. “It’s bad, Stevie.”

“How bad?”

“Bad enough I don’t feel ok leaving.”

“Shit. Should I come over?”

“NO. He’s pissed enough that I’m here.”

“Damit!” He heard Steve hit something.

“Take it easy on the counter. We just had it replaced.”

“I hate this. Bad shit happens to good people and the good people have to pay for it for life. It’s so, so....”

“It just is, Steve. You know? It just...is.”

Steve sighed on the other end of the line.

“Tell Sam...tell him that we need him. Tell him whatever it takes, we’ll do it.”

Bucky smiled. Steve Rogers, Man of Action, always wanted to rush in and rescue his people. 

“I love you.”

“You’re the best one of us, Buck. I love you.”

Bucky tossed his phone on the counter and headed back to Sam’s room. Sam was still completely under the covers, the sound of his breathing the only sign he was alive. Bucky settled cross legged at the foot of the bed and shook what he thought was probably Sam’s foot. 

“Sam? Come up for air?” 

Sam tucked the quilt under his chin, but didn’t turn his head. Bucky kept his voice low and steady. 

“I’m going to ask you some questions. Tell me the truth, ok?”

Sam nodded.

“Did you eat yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“What did you have?”

“Cereal.”

“When did you shower last?”

“Last night.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

Bucky stayed quiet for a minute and then softly.  
“When’s the last time you got out of bed, Sam?”

Too long ago, the silence said, but he needed to hear Sam say it.

“Sam? When?”

Sam sighed and sat up, keeping his blanket close to his chest. He covered his face with his hands.

“Three days. Got home from our run Tuesday, showered, got into bed. Haven’t been up since, except to pee and eat.”

“Ok.” Bucky tried to look at Sam’s face, but Sam avoided him. “So...it doesn’t sound like a virus.”

“It’s not.”

Bucky nodded.

Sam’s jaw clenched and tears started running down his nose. Bucky fought the urge to fling himself on top of Sam and hug him till he couldn’t breathe, because he knew that pain, knew Sam had probably been hiding it for weeks now. He knew too well how it went. You think you can deal, at the beginning. You think it’s just a few bad days, so you go on about your business and put on a good face and then one day you just go to bed and don’t get up and….

And now came the really hard questions.

Bucky prepared, making sure he could keep his voice even and his reactions to himself, no matter the answers.

“Have you hurt yourself?”

“No," Sam said quickly.

“You thinking about killing yourself?”

Sam got very still and glanced at Bucky’s face, then away. “Sometimes. In passing.”

Bucky’s heart tugged. He knew that feeling. He knew that fear.

“How are you going to do it?”

“I’m not.”

“You don’t have plans?”

Sam whipped his head around and finally had some fire in his eyes. “No, alright! No plans. I know what suicidal ideation is and I’m not doing it, ok?”

Sam flopped back on his pillow and pulled the blanket to his chin.

“I haven’t had a shower in three days, because I don’t have the energy to get my ass out of this bed,” he finally said. “Killing myself would take more mental and physical exertion than I can deal with.”

Bucky snorted. Sam glared at him. 

“I’m not laughing at you, I swear.” Bucky shifted. “The last time I was thinking about killing myself, I thought, nah, too much trouble. And then I immediately thought what the fuck has my life come to that I’m not going to kill myself because it takes too much planning? You would think it would be the whole human survival instinct that would stop me, but no. It was logistics.”

Sam smiled. “I mean, if the box cutter was close enough, maybe, but what about the mess?”

“Can’t even think about loading a gun. How exhausting would that be?”

Sam snickered. “And I have to get up to get enough pills to do the job and then there’s the barfing to deal with….”

“Might as well go back to sleep and wait for a tornado to come through.” 

Sam could barely speak through he was laughing so hard. “PLEASE LORD. SEND DOWN THE LIGHTNING TO TAKE ME.”

“You should be asking Thor about that,” Bucky gasped through his laughter.

They eventually calmed down and Sam sighed. “That was good.” 

Bucky nodded. “Catharsis.”

“Man, where do you come up with this? Ex brainwashed assassin talking about some CATHARSIS.”

“Hey, I read.” Bucky got off the bed and looked around. “So here’s what’s going to happen. I am going to go into your bathroom and start the shower. You are going to take a shower, and I will lay out clothes for you, which you will then put on. I am going to start your laundry and clean the kitchen and order groceries.” 

Sam watched him disappear into the bathroom and heard the water running. 

“You need food before the shower?” Bucky asked as he reappeared. 

“Nah, I’m ok.”

“Get to it, then. You stink.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sam stood under the hot water until it ran cold. He stepped into his bedroom, clean and relatively alert, to find his bed clothes changed, the pile of laundry in the corner gone and a shirt and sweats laid out on the bed. He absently pulled on the clothes and wandered into the kitchen, where Bucky was wiping down counters.

“You don’t have to do this stuff,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I know.” 

Sam heard the click of a camera phone and looked at Bucky. 

“I like your shirt,” Bucky smirked. 

He looked down to find “BAE: Bucky Above Everything” plastered across his chest.

“Goddamnit, Barnes. That is taking advantage of my current mental state.” 

“That pic is my new lock screen.”

“Where did you even get this shirt?”

“I gave it to you and you NEVER wear it so I dug it up.”

“Do not send that pic to anyone…” He heard the ding of the group chat notification. “I hate you.” Sam pulled out a stool and sat down at the counter. Bucky passed him a glass of water and a protein bar.

“I’ve got the basic stuff in the Instacart….smoothie stuff, cereal, milk, bread, that kind of thing. What else you want?”

“What I want is my mama’s pineapple upside down cake. The whole thing. All to myself.”

Bucky smiled.

“It was my absolute favourite thing in the whole world. She made it in that,” Sam pointed to the huge cast iron skillet sitting on the counter. The surface shone like black glass from decades of seasoning.

“Jesus, that must weigh 40 pounds,” Bucky exclaimed. “That’s not a skillet. That’s a weapon.”

“That cake, man. I could always talk her into making it for me. She would let me arrange the pineapple slices in the pan while she mixed the batter. When the cake was done, she would cut me a huge slice and her a tiny slice and we’d eat it together like it was some secret. She would never let anyone take the last piece, either. Always saved it for me.”

“Unfortunately, Sam Wilson’s Mama’s Pineapple Upside Down Cake is not available at Wegmans.”

“Then I want some of those chocolate chip cookie sandwich things they make. With the buttercream inside. And, like, 8 dozen of those peanut butter ultimate brownies.”

“And ice cream.”

“Yes. Vanilla and chocolate and cookies and cream.”

“Okay.”

“And get whatever it is you use to make hot fudge sauce,” Sam said. “How do you make that stuff, anyway? It’s like liquid crack.”

“Not telling. It’s the only reason Steve stays with me.”

“And Cheetos. I want Cheetos.”

Bucky nodded and kept clicking. “One Wilson-Barnes Eat Your Feelings Kit is on the way.” He refilled Sam’s water and passed it back to him. “Also, seeing as how it’s March and the Round of 28 starts tonight, I entered us in Tony’s bracket pool. Deadline is in two hours. I’ll shoot you the link.” 

“That is nowhere near enough time to fill out a bracket!”

“What do you mean? I did mine while you were in the shower.”

“BUCKY!” Sam nearly slapped the phone out of his hand. “Tony’s buy in is not pizza money! You gotta read and analyze and be serious.”

“I did analyze. I picked the mascot I thought would win in a fight.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“I put clean sheets on the guest room bed, too,” said Bucky.

“Why’d you do that?” Sam asked through a mouthful of Cliff bar.

“I’m going to need a place to crash for the next couple of weeks, unless you want me to sleep with you.”

“No, you are not staying here,” Sam started. “I don’t NEED you or WANT you here.”

Bucky sighed. “That’s too bad, Sammy. I’m staying.”

“It’s just a few bad days, a little dip. Everyone has them.”

Bucky fixed him with a look. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“I’ll be fine--.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Sam?” Bucky finally raised his voice. “You know how this works! You’re not going to magically be better in a few days."

“YES I KNOW." Sam’s hands shook and his jaw muscles flexed and his throat was tight. “I know how it works.”

He turned on his heel and walked out onto the deck. He would have slammed the door, but sliding glass wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Bucky thought it best to let Sam sit for a bit. In the meantime, he’d had an idea. He needed blankets. All of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments give me life. XOXO


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky slid the door open and took a seat next to Sam. 

Sam spoke without looking at him. "I hate this shit. I hate that I go to therapy and take the pills and exercise and eat right and do my job that I love and spend time with my friends and all the shit you’re supposed to do and I still end up here.” He shook his head. “And I know it’s a chronic illness and blah blah blah but it still feels like failure. So the last thing I want is someone else here to witness it.”

Bucky nodded. He got that. But there was no way he was leaving Sam to do this alone. “Remember last fall?” Bucky asked.

"You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

“September. Steve was gone on some mission for weeks. Felt like weeks, at least.”

“Oh, that,” Sam said. “I have a vague recollection.” 

“My whole rhythm was messed up. Went two days before I realized I had slept a total of 7 hours and had eaten all the popcorn in the apartment and nothing else. Forced myself to run, to train even though I felt like shit and everything hurt. I thought I could handle it. A few bad days is all. But everything just kept getting heavier and heavier until I just….

“But you got through.”

“Yeah, cause you came over and hauled my ass up and made me change clothes and eat. I remember you making me sit outside in the sun and holding my hand while I cried over cotton commercials, and talking me into helping you with your knife work even though you didn't need it and taking me on walks and the whole time I was telling you to go fuck yourself and you would just say ‘Yeah, in a sec,’ and keep on doing whatever it was you were doing.”

Bucky put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You wasted your vacation time on a belligerent, ungrateful bastard, who, frankly, could have killed you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not good enough to kill me.”

“I am, but that’s not the point. I’m alive because you did that, Sam.”

Sam snorted. “You’re a drama queen.”

“Not an exaggeration,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Just a fact.”

“You don’t owe me for that.”

Bucky made a strangled sound of frustration. “I’m not doing this because I owe you. You’re my friend. This is what friends do, right?”

He knew Sam didn’t like to feel beholden. He needed him to understand.

“If you don’t want me to do it for you, then let me do it for me. I don’t get to help people too often. I’m usually too busy hurting them.”

Bucky studied his hands and Sam cleared his throat.

“Yeah, ok. Stay.”

“Good. Now come on. I have something to show you.”

Bucky led him to the living room where he had pulled out the sleeper sofa. He’d taken the softest blankets he could find and fashioned them into a cocoon.

“I made you a nest,” Bucky said proudly.

“Is this a Falcon joke?” said Sam.

“Maybe,” Bucky said. “Get in.”

“You want me to get in the blanket nest?”

“No, I made it as an art installation. YES, I want you to get in the nest.”

“Fine.” Sam climbed on the bed and burrowed between the blankets. He curled up and pulled two more on top of himself, until only his face was visible.

“I need to go get clothes and stuff,” Bucky said as Sam got settled. “Is that ok?”

“It’s fine by me,” Sam said.

“I mean, will you be ok by yourself?”

“Yeah, I’m a grown ass man. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Sam, do I need to hide the knives?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Sam chuckled. “Like I said, no energy.”

“You sure?” Bucky asked, a little more serious.

“I’m sure.”

“I was thinking...you want me to bring Stella back?” Stella was Bucky and Steve’s Malinois, a retired military dog whose main duties now included taking up too much room on the couch and getting belly rubs. “She’d be better off here with us anyway. Steve’s gone most of the day.”

Sam shrugged. “OK.” 

“Text me if you need anything.” Bucky pulled on his jacket and started for the door.

“Wait,” Sam said. “Take the key that’s in the top drawer of the side table.”

“I have a house key. And the door is coded.”

“Key’s not for the house,” Sam mumbled. “Gun safe.”

“Yeah. Of course,” Bucky reached in and squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “Do I need to stay?”

Sam stuck his head out of the nest. “I promise I will still be alive when you get back.”

“Ok,” Bucky said. “See you soon.”

Sam grunted, already disappearing back into the blankets.


	4. Chapter 4

The next time Sam surfaced, there was a large warmth pressing against his back and hot breath on his neck.

“Hi, Stella,” Sam said. The dog thumped her tail and licked him.

Stella had been a Military Police dog, providing support for MPs on patrol. She could be ferocious and intimidating if she felt like her boys were being threatened, but was generally calm and friendly. She was sensitive, too, and would often appear when Bucky was feeling anxious and press herself against his legs. Sometimes Bucky would find her laying on Steve’s back after a particularly bad night. Stella had now made it her job to look after Sam.

Sam lifted his head and sniffed. There were savory smells coming from the kitchen. He tried to get up but Stella was heavy.

“What do you say we go find out what treats are in the kitchen?” Sam asked. Stella perked up at the word ‘treats’ and jumped off the sofa bed. She waited patiently while Sam stretched, then bounded into the kitchen.

“That beauty sleep helped you out,” Bucky said as he pulled bowls from the cabinet. “You hungry?”

Sam realized he was. It was the first time in about three days he actually wanted to eat, and whatever Bucky had made smelled great.

“I made beef stew,” Bucky said, “but I can make you something lighter if that’s too much.”

“Actually, the stew smells great.” Sam’s stomach rumbled.

“Good. I baked bread too.”

Sam paused and regarded this strange man who baked bread and made blanket forts. “Who even are you?”

“I ask myself that every day,” Bucky said, putting a bowl of stew in front of Sam. “Dig in.”

Sam did. The stew was delicious and the bread was still warm from the oven. It was like eating the feeling he wanted--warm, filling. 

“So if you had time to bake bread, how long did I sleep?” Sam asked.

“Four hours, maybe?” Bucky shrugged. “It seemed like it was good sleep so I wasn’t too worried.”

After they ate, Bucky started to clean the kitchen and shooed Sam away when he tried to help. Sam returned to the nest and it wasn’t long before Bucky shoved himself onto the bed.

“You like your nest, then?” Bucky asked.

Sam nodded. “Blanket fort, yes.”

“You coming out anytime soon?”

“No,” Sam said.

“Ok,” said Bucky. “How about I read to you until the first basketball game starts?”

“What are you reading?”

“ _ The Maltese Falcon _ .” Sam rolled his eyes and huffed. Bucky looked confused for a moment, then a grin suddenly spread across Bucky’s face. “I swear I didn’t choose it on purpose.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine. Read.”

Bucky read and Sam tuned in and out and stroked Stella and felt peaceful for the first time in he wasn’t sure when. He started smelling something sweet and familiar, and a few moments later, a timer went off. 

“‘Scuse me for a sec,” Bucky said, climbing off the bed. Sam followed him into the kitchen.

“What did you do?” he asked, almost accusatory, as he watched Bucky pull his mother’s cast iron skillet out of the oven. The smell clicked into place. Pineapple Upside Down Cake.

“I called your sister to get the recipe,” Bucky explained, “and I made your mom’s Pineapple Upside Down Cake.”

Sam stared. “You called my sister? And made….”

“I know it won’t be as good as your mom’s,” Bucky said. “But I thought it might help you feel….grounded? Home? I don’t know.”

Sam was suddenly overwhelmed. This morning he had dreaded the thought of being awake. Now he was standing in his kitchen about to eat a homemade cake and actually looking forward. He knew there were still hard days ahead of him, that he was far from better. But for the first time in weeks, he could imagine a time when he would be ok and it was because his friend was stubborn and kind.

He realized he was crying. Bucky was hugging him, and Sam tightened his grip on his friend. “Thanks for this, Buck”

“No need, but you’re welcome.” 

Sam heard the tears in Bucky’s voice and pulled away. “What are you crying for?”

“I’m not crying. I’m tearing up. It’s different.” Bucky laughed, then said quietly, “Because I know, Sammy. I know what it’s like.”

Sam nodded, because he was right. “So right now, I need a piece of cake with vanilla ice cream and then I want to go watch basketball.

“Sure thing. I’ll get the cake. You find the basketball.”

Sam spread the blankets out so Bucky would have some room. Stella piled in the middle of them as they turned on the game. They watched as Auburn took down Gonzaga.

Bucky glanced at Sam. “Didn’t you have the Zags going deep?”

Sam sighed. “Yeah. You?”

“God, no. A tiger versus a bulldog? Auburn, no contest.”

Bucky popped popcorn for the next game and brought Sam another piece of cake.

“You’re gonna be ok, Sam,” he said as he handed it to him.

‘Yeah. I am”

“Your bracket, however....”

Sam sighed and shook his head. “Thanks, Buck.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when I was in a place similar to Sam's. I wrote what I needed at the time, as a way to give it to myself. These discussions are based on actual conversations I've had with friends. This story represents the words and actions that have helped me the most.
> 
> The title of the piece comes from the song "True Sadness" by the Avett Brothers. The lyrics inspired this story.


End file.
